Nothing Else Matters
by KAZ2Y567i
Summary: An hour left you say your goodbyes and then he's gone. But for one of them it is not the end.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **Uh-um well here goes. Hello and thank you for deciding to open and read my fiction. This is my first attempt, and hopefully not my last, at putting fingers to keyboard and letting my muse free. Well actually they're a bunch of teeth gnashing, claw barring plot bunnies. Imagine the image of the bunny in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Big sharp nasty pointy teeth? Now you've got the general idea. I've tried luring them into a chalked pentagram with a tempting piece of chocolate but that didn't work either. I'm sure they're all possessed. Looks like it's the hard work with me chasing them around the house with my 6 x 4. If you're a chippy or an Aussie you'll understand that reference.

**Disclaimer:** Supernatural will is and always be the property of Mr Eric Kripke he who walks on water and Co. I'm just borrowing them for a while so I can play with them in my sandbox. I promise to dust them off and return them safely in one piece when I've finished playing with them. Though are little more angtsy than usual. By hey, what can I say? This is fanfic.

No money was made or changed hands. Though I wouldn't mind a hand out.

Thank you to Metallica for writing such an inspirational song.

The F bomb is used a few times. What more can I say? They are testosterone fuelled boys…..sighs

So, without any further ado….dramatic drum roll….here it is.

**Nothing Else Matters**

**By KAZ2Y567i**

An hour.

60 minutes.

3,600 seconds.

That's all the time he has left.

It's long enough for him to do a lot of things.

Knock back a few beers over a game of pool. Sweet talk himself into a girls' pants. Salt & burn a corpse. Play a practical joke and hang shit on Sammy.

But not long enough for what he really wants to say.

_To Sammy._

How can you say in one hour how proud you are?

How can you say in one hour how much you value his unwavering support. Having your back at every bad turn of events and to blindly follow you into whatever hair brained, ill thought off hunt you manage to find yourself in?

How can you tell someone in one hour that even though you laugh at his long hair, his gangly walk and his girlishness that you would rather have him by your side than a whole army of men.

How can you tell him in one hour how much you really love him.

Dean sighed heavily as he watched the moon rise slowly above the horizon. It wouldn't be long now he thought as he reclined upon the hood of the impala. A solid presence that still supported him. An island of solidarity amongst the turmoil of his emotions. His version of 'normal' if ever there was one. His one constant, his one and only home that contained everything that really mattered to him in his life; his Dad, there weapons and Sammy.

Soon he would have nothing.

Wiping an errant tear from his face he shuddered, blaming the bitterness of the night for the weakness in his eyes and his momentary lapse into chick-flick territory. But inside he felt as if deaths fingers were slowly creeping into his soul.

For the past week they had kept to themselves, holed up in another crummy motel in some small hick town in the middle of nowheres-ville. Silently they had come to the same conclusion that they needed a break for awhile from hunting to gather there thoughts, pool there resources, take stock of the situation etc etc. Whatever they decided to tell themselves the real reason for staying below the radar, it would become a moot point anyway. More importantly it would be time for them to deal with what would be an eventuality.

One brother would die. A death in exchange for a life. A life that was now inside the motel room hunched over a computer. His face lit up an eerie blue by the laptop screen. Black and coloured text flashed intermittently upon his face as he scrolled through pages and pages of hits in his Google search.

Sams' research had driven them from one end of the country to the other for the past year. Each lead, each small piece of hopeful information however miniscule had been investigated. But nothing. Absolutely nothing, zip, nadah, zilch had come from it. There were no clouds with silver linings or pots of gold at the end of rainbows for them this time. No ruby slippers or Glenda's to send them back home.

They were both at there wits end and time was running out. One was destined to die. The deal he made was near expiration. But what of the other that couldn't now bear to think of a life without his brother by his side.

One brother would cease to be. His soul forever lost to the torment of hell and all it's denizens eager to get there fingers into him. The other? It would break his heart, pure and simple. It would take his soul in as much as the deal would take his brothers life.

Outside one was thinking of all the things that he should have said and done before now. The other was inside feverously trying to find further information before the inevitable.

The alarm on Sam's phone pinged.

_45 minutes left._

Snatching at it viciously, he gave it a cursory glance before throwing it to the floor. It bounced once then landed somewhere under his brother's bed. His brother's bed that was still neatly made. His duffle still unpacked sitting in the middle. Everything that was Dean was there on the bed, in the bag. But where was…….

_Dean!_

The blood pounding in his ears at the thought of his brother alone jump started Sam into action. Violently pushing his chair back from the desk he went looking for his brother. Castigating himself for being so preoccupied with facts and figures when the most important person in his life was somewhere. Somewhere that he wasn't. Somewhere that he should have been.

If it wasn't for the morbidity of the subject concerned, his discovery of his brother reclining on the impala would have been rather beautiful.

The soft blue white light of the first rays of the moon settling on the ebony casing of the car, then gently caressing his brothers face would have made it on the cover of any Mills & Boon novel. Though Fabio may have done the cover more justice with the muscle, no one could have beaten the forlorn look that Dean had on his face at that one moment.

His head was tilted as if listening for something. His eyes were distant and dreamy as if they too were waiting.

Waiting, yes. Waiting for you Sam.

With a heavy sigh Sam walked towards him. Stopping just short of Dean who hadn't acknowledged his presence, his head still tilted in his brother's direction.

"Hey"

"Hey" Was the equally short reply as Dean turned his head away from his brother.

Sam waited. Waited for something. A word. A cue. A sign from his brother for what he should do next. He wanted so much to be doing something. The inactivity was driving him nuts. Clenching his fingers into fists he jammed them harder into the pockets of his jeans, scuffing the tips of his shoes into the gravel making little circles.

"Spit it out Sam"

Sam's head came up quickly. Partially surprised that his brother could pick his mood so quickly. Then deeply happy that his brother was still aware of him. Was still the hunter and ever alert of his surroundings. Old habits.

There eyes met. Both waiting for something to be said.

"How…? Sams' first word was garbled. The words getting caught. Clearing his throat, he turned angry eyes towards his brother.

"How can you be so calm?" His voice hissed.

"How can I not be." Was the equally terse reply.

"God damn it Dean!" Sam roared at his brother, the veins standing out in his neck his whole body shaking. "You're about to….! And stopped short at saying that word. It stuck there like a gall in his throat, like a piece of food that wouldn't go up or down. Stifling his words, making it even harder for him to say what he wanted to.

"Die?" Dean finished for him.

Sam turned away, breaking eye contact.

"Yeah, that" He mumbled.

Dean slowly raised himself from his prone position on the hood and sat upright. His game face on though his eyes said otherwise.

"Been there, done that". Not caring how callous it sounded. Or maybe he did care and wanted to deflate the situation.

"For fucks sake Dean! How can you be so blasé?" Sam strode towards him and pulled him by his shirt front away from the impala. Bringing him up close, closer than personal space. Bodily closer than they had been for some time.

"You are going to die soon. Don't you care? Aren't you even angry?"

They were inches away from each other. They could feel and smell each other's breath. There eyes were locked in a war of emotions…..anger, fear, sorrow, remorse, acceptance.

"I'm tired" Dean's words were barely audible. His eyes still locked with Sam's. "I'm so tired Sam".

Sam loosened his grip on Dean's shirt not wanting to let go entirely. These were his last moments with his brother. He would want every part of his body to remember this time. How Dean's shirt felt beneath his fingers, the scent of him, a mixture of gun shot, salt, smoke and leather. And the constant vibration of Dean's heartbeat through his palms. As long as that heart beat Dean was still alive.

"I'm so fucking tired Sam" Dean continued his eyes never leaving his brothers. "We've been running and hunting and driving and I'm so freakin sick of it". His voice broke. "I…I… just can't take it anymore". He slouched backwards. Sam's strong grip still holding him up otherwise his ass would've hit the impala.

Easing Dean backwards Sam slowly released his grip. Bringing his hands up to settle on his brothers shoulders.

Deans' head was bowed in defeat. His shoulders slumped. His hands carelessly dangling on his thighs. It was a sight that scared Sam. This was a Dean that he had never seen. Dean had given up.

"I'm sorry". He said as his long fingers kneaded themselves against Dean's shoulders.

Sam's admission brought Dean's face up in a flash.

"Huh? What the fuck have you got to be sorry for? I'm the one that put us in this situation. If anyone has the right to say sorry it should be me". Dean's eyes flashed as he brushed his brother's hands from off his shoulders. "Don't you go blaming yourself for this Sam. This is not your fault! Do you hear me?" Raising his finger and emphasising every word with a quick staccato movement against Sam's chest.

"You Sam! You of all people have been my anchor in all of this shit from the get go. How do you think I kept on going, huh? If I didn't have you by my side I would've swallowed lead long ago. It's me that should be saying sorry to you for dragging you around when I should've told you to go and get a life. Away from this" he said waving his hands around to indicate this situation. "Away from.." his voice now breaking, the adrenalin that he had in him petering out, leaving him an empty hole. A hole that was quickly filling up and threatening to overspill with all the emotions that he had kept at bay.

Until now.

"Away from.. away from me". His last word breaking as he turned his head aside vainly trying to hide the trembling of his chin and the tears that fell freely.

Sam did then what Sam does best. He said nothing. He said nothing and let his actions speak louder than words. Stepping even closer he pulled Dean into his arms and held him. Held onto him tight. As tight as he possibly could. Trying so much to convey in an embrace where words had failed him. Then slowly resting his own head on his brothers strong shoulders, he let his tears fall.

They remained like this for sometime. Neither wanting to break the moment, the spell, the closeness, the love of one brother to another in a simple embrace. Brothers. Brothers in arms.

_30 minutes_

It was Dean that was the first to speak.

"Get off me you big girl".

Which didn't come out all that strong seeing that his face was still against Sams' chest and his voice was croaky and muffled.

"Pot calling the kettle black" Was the equally croaky and muffled reply.

One last squeeze and Dean gently pushed Sam away. Turning his head aside, he sniffed loudly then wiped his eyes.

Sam did the same.

After composing themselves they turned towards each other. There eyes meeting once again.

Dean studied Sam for a long moment.

"Give me your hand"

Not knowing any better, and trusting Dean implicitly, Sam did just that. To find that Dean had quickly placed a round bundle in his hand. A bundle of items that comprised of a silver ring, an amulet and a set of keys.

He couldn't pull his hand away quick enough. _No!_ he said to himself. _NO!_

Try as he might he couldn't withdraw his hand from Dean's strong grip.

"Promise me this Sam" Dean said looking intently at Sam, his eyes never wavering even though his voice was.

"Promise me that you will not come after me". Not needing to mention where. It was a given fact.

It was back again. That gall in Sam's throat. But this time it was bigger and it was threatening to choke him.

_How did he know?_ Sam voiced to himself. Trying to keep his expression neutral.

"Because I know you little brother" Dean answered with a smirk on his face in answer to Sam's silent question. "We are alike in so many ways".

Sam stood there. His mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. His hands still held together by his brothers strong grip. The impala keys digging into the soft flesh of his palm, making small red imprints. Causing him a little pain, but it was a good pain. The hands that encompassed his were still warm and alive.

"Please" Dean was begging. And Dean did not beg, not unless he was really cornered. At his wits end.

Dropping his head Sam nodded. His hair falling over his forehead shielding his face from Dean's piercing gaze.

"Sammy, look at me". Dean said as he stepped closer, dipping his head to try and get a glimpse of Sam's face. " I need you to promise me that you won't try to follow me" he continued, his voice breaking on the word 'me'. Giving it a squeaky, pitiful sound.

"Sammy?" It was a plea uttered from dieing lips.

Sam nodded again, slowly bringing his face up to meet Dean's.

"I.., I…" trying vainly to push the words out through the tears, "I promise", he finally stammered.

Dean smiled and removed one hand to tentatively wipe away Sam's tears with his thumb.

"Thanks kiddo" he sighed, pulling Sammy's head down so there foreheads touched. Eyes closed and taking a deep breath he prepared himself for the killing blow.

_15 minutes_

Sighing deeply, he released Sams' hands and stepped away from him towards the road.

"I going to walk away now and I don't want you to follow me"

"NO!" Sam rushed towards Dean, one hand outstretched beseechingly. Making a grab for Dean's arm trying to bring him back to him. To keep him close, keep him safe.

Dean dodged Sam's hand and moved deftly away beyond Sam's reach.

"Please Sammy, don't make it harder for us than it already is"

_He's only an arms length away,_ thought Sammy frantically. His brain quickly calculating the distance, the time it would take for him to grab Dean , all in a matter of a few seconds. _I can still make a grab for him, I can still hold onto him, I need to hold onto him, I can't let him go, I need him! I need him! I won't let him go! I can't! I just can't!!!!!_

These thoughts echoed around and around inside Sammy's head till he couldn't take anymore and fell to his knees onto the gravel.

Dean lunged forward grabbing Sammy before his face impacted with the hard tarmac.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy" Dean crooned as he held his brothers shuddering body in his arms. Gently rocking them both back and forth.

"There has to be something I've missed, some fact that I haven't found yet" he mumbled into Deans' chest.

"Still thinking to the end eh bro? You are such a geek" Dean whispered fondly into his hair. Holding his brother even tighter.

"I can't lose you like this Dean, there has to be some way I can save you"

"You already have"

Sam looked up, a questioning look on his face.

And if he ever doubted that he wasn't loved by his brother before, he wasn't now. Dean was open. As open as Sam had ever seen him. All the brashness, cockiness, smart-ass-ness was gone and in it's place was the real Dean. His Dean. The brother that had been by his side since the fire. The one that had nurtured him, gone without, protected him and defended him. The one that loved him unconditionally. No questions asked.

The sight took his breath away and all he could do was stare..

"The demon was right you know" he began "I need my family more than they need me. I am nothing without them. You are my strength Sam. You always will be. You have given me more than I can ever hope to repay" he finished as he brushed a light kiss on the top of Sam's head.

"Now get up' he said as ran his fingers through his brothers hair. "Winchesters do not grovel on the side of roads".

Pulling themselves up, they dusted themselves off.

_5 minutes_

The moon had risen high in the night sky. Casting it's light onto a quiet moment in the boys farewell. All was still as two brothers held the other's gaze. As if memorising every detail of face, figure and form.

Then a deep voice began to sing.

A song that both of them had listened to often in there travels. Sometimes at very high decibels in the impala, then other times softly in the wee hours of the morning on there way back from a hunt.

_So close, no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
and nothing else matters _

_Never opened myself this way  
Life is ours, we live it our way  
All these words I don't just say  
and nothing else matters _

Trust I seek and I find in you  
Every day for us something new  
Open mind for a different view  
and nothing else matters

never cared for what they do  
never cared for what they know  
but I know

Dean sang. His voice was tremulous at first. Wavering on certain words, losing pitch and volume on others. But his intent was sure. He was trying to be brave and he wanted to help Sam to be brave as well. Even at the end of his life he was still thinking of others. He was still looking out for his brother.

With his head held high and a smirk on his face he abruptly turned and walked away, still singing. His voice drifting easily in

the cold night air.

But this time there was another voice that added itself to the requiem.

It too was tremulous and then grew stronger with each passing word.

So close, no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
and nothing else matters

never cared for what they do  
never cared for what they know  
but I know

His voice rising in volume as the figure of his swaggering brother became smaller and smaller in the distance.

_Never opened myself this way  
Life is ours, we live it our way  
All these words I don't just say _

_And nothing else matters.  
_

_Trust I seek and I find in you  
Every day for us, something new  
Open mind for a different view  
and nothing else matters _

Together there voices rose up high into the night sky._  
_

_never cared for what they say  
never cared for games they play  
never cared for what they do  
never cared for what they know  
and I know  
_

_So close, no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
No, nothing else matters_

Until one sang no more.

The End

So there you have it. Need a tissue? Here take this.

I sincerely hope that you enjoyed my first venture into writing Supernatural fanfiction.

Please feel free to comment…the good, the bad, indifferent. Just be gentle in your criticisms. I like to think that my reflexes are pretty good when it comes to catching/dodging the odd softball hurling my way. But then words can be a lot harder and come at you a lot faster.

Thank you for reading and I look forward to reading all your comments.

There may be a sequel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimers: **See Chapter 1

**A/N** Okay boys and girls, cats & kittens and all you Super freaks out there…yes you! Here is the next chapter. I hope that it lives up to your expectations.

Thanks are in order to you that have reviewed, commented or have placed me in their favourite authors list or put me on alert. I am truly humbled that you feel my attempt at fanfiction is this worthy of your attention.

Tarpelion, clclemmons, cbloom, Ana21913, xJazminex, Spiritz494, Fianoglach, PookbearD, CMMSBFOREVER, StrangeVisitor, Mousitsa, Silwyna, and to you as well, the silent ones. I know that you are out there reading and may not have the time or inclination to comment. I thank you anyway.

Last, but nowhere near least a big hug goes to my beta……….xoleanderx. Thanks for dotting my 'i's and crossing my 't's' , deleting my commas', picking up my theres'and theirs, and generally tidying up after me. You're a gem!

**Chapter 2**

**So Close No Matter How Far**

**By KAZ2Y567i**

A lone figure sits in a pew at the rear of the church.

He's dressed in torn jeans, a rumpled shirt and an old hand-me-down leather jacket.

He has the air of a loner. A man that, by his actions or incidents beyond his control, have made him as such. A man who prefers his own company to that of others. The shadows of the columns in the church and the reflections off the coloured glass in the windows on his cowered shoulders are his only companions now. They move around him as the sun crosses the heavens. He is oblivious to all of this. His hands are clasped in prayer, head bowed, his too long hair hiding his closed eyes. His whole body in supplication to the Lord.

It's been five years.

Five years to the day.

Five years since he lost the one thing that meant more to him than anything else in this world.

What is that old adage? You never know what you've got until it's gone?

Well he's finally come to realise that now. He's gone through the school of hard knocks and has graduated with honours.

The four years that he spent alone at Stanford were nothing compared to this. Sure, he had Jess with him. The love of his life. The woman that he was ready to marry and live the normal till the end of time. He was ready for suburbia, the white picket fence, 2.5 kids, a pet (preferably a dog), a good paying job and a mortgage. All normal. Mr. S. Suburbia. He also had his college friends that would in all likelihood go on to do the same. And his teachers who would guide him to this end.

Now he has nothing.

All of that past life is gone. Lost to him in a way that he could never hope to grab a hold of again. To recapture its essence, its vibrancy. It's now a distant memory. A cell memory that haunts his subconscious while he sleeps. Interweaving these long forgotten strands into a nightmare, coalescing them in the form of his beautiful Jess on the ceiling enveloped by flames and a voice screaming her name. A voice that upon waking in a cold sweat he realises is his own.

A voice that would not now be humbly speaking to God. A voice and body that would have ceased to be if it wasn't for another young man clad in the same leather jacket that he now wears as a penance. His hair shirt.

The past five years have not been kind to him. No, not at all. The temptation of drugs and alcohol to ease a broken heart and a guilty conscience have taken their toll . There have been too many nights of hustling pool in some backwater dive of a town. To earn what little money he could to pay the rent, buy another meal, another drink, another score. It ended up usually being the last two. Credit card fraud was not an option. No need to bring more attention to himself that he already has. A tall stranger in a pool hall, scarred and with a loud car. No, he didn't need that at all. And then there were the bar brawls. Some as a result of a disgruntled player at the honest loss of his winnings, or others that he instigated just for the hell of it. They have all left their mark. In the heat of the moment, these fights were his release. His anger and frustration urging him to beat the crap out of the asshole in front of him. This was not a good way for him to come to terms with it. And he knew it. But God, it felt so good! His relief was transient, gone as quickly as it had come.

Could it be a subliminal cry for help? A cry for someone to save him and take him far away from this new life that he now leads? Someone to keep him safe. To watch his back. To promise that nothing bad would ever happen to him while he was around.

He remembers with fondness when he was that young. But now his eyes have lost their innocence and have become hard with all that he has seen and done. He has become a hunter. Methodical in his research, driven by his need to complete the hunt and cold in its execution. Often it has made him sick to his stomach to the point where even suicide looks nice. And who said that suicide was painless? It fuckin' hurt when you missed the side of your head. When you were too half cut to keep your hand still so you could aim straight. Who would've thought that he could miss at that close range.

But he did.

And now he's giving thanks that he did.

For if it wasn't for this rather unfortunate series of events, he wouldn't have gone to that hospital. Met that nurse whose grandmother had a penchant for all things mysterious, ancient and supernatural. And with her granddaughter's care, patience and a certain amount of infatuation, had helped Sam to re-discover his lost cause. He willingly enrolled himself into detox and weened himself off the drug and alcohol dependence. He worked hard at regaining his humanity and re-discovered the reason why he was still alive. She helped to provide the impetus, the knowledge to steer him in the direction of a certain spell. A certain spell that could possibly bring people back from the dead.

Oh, there were no tried and true methods here. No, when in doubt pick 'e' all of the above answers for this question. This was not a hocus-pocus, abracadabra kind of spell where everything would be hunky dory, okey-dokey as the smoke cleared to reveal happy smiling faces and the magic act finished to perfection. Without a hitch. No lollipops and candy canes for this customer, thank you very much.

This spell was risky. Very risky. A plus, plus, plus on the risk-o-meter.

This spell could lead to a slow death for both parties concerned. Or worse.

Sam had seen worse. Had experienced worse. Lived worse. He had seen enough and done enough in his young life. He was alone. And to him, that was worse.

Sighing, he slowly stood. He had made his peace, eased his conscience and had prayed for guidance. His only hope now was that he had fully prepared himself for what was to come.

Stepping out into the bright light, he brought his hand up, shielding his eyes as he waited for them to adjust from the dimness of the church to the brightness of life outside it. Looking down the steps, he smiled. There she was. Waiting patiently for him. She was now his constant in a world of unknowns. Containing his worldly goods, everything that was him, that he treasured. Except for one. For there inside its black shell was where his hope lay. Inside her ebony casing lay all the hope that might unite him with something that he had lost and had been missing for all this time.

He smiled wistfully as his hand touched the cold chrome of the door handle, the familiar creak making his heart jump, setting his pulse racing.

Gunning the engine, he pulled out into traffic and merged into the lane. The familiar rumble of the Impala's engine easing itself into his fatigued body and helping to massage away the tension as he relaxed back into the leather upholstery.

Winding down the window, he then leaned across and turned on the radio. Just in time to here the final strains of:

_So close, no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
No, nothing else matters_

Was it providence? Was it coincidence? Or was it an answer from God. He didn't really know. Honestly, he really didn't give a shit.

He had made up his mind.

He was ready.

He was as ready as he'd ever be.

He was prepared to take the risks.

His brother would do no less for him.

TBC

Like it? Love it? Loathe it?

Please let me know.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N** Well here I am again. These bunnies will not let go of this story. Snarky little buggers that they are….dodges projectile of peanut M&M's. 

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1, blah, blah, blah

**Thank you's:** To Degonda, iluvtomQ18, MmmKay, Nilah, meimei42, heather03nmg, dies solis85, namedone (again), Tarpelion (again), SupernaturalAngels, Deanlovr, MrsB108, Nate and Jake, Animefouryou, Oneswan and to you the silent ones that have put me in your favourites, or added me to your alerts, or are just reading the story; I thank you as well. I am truly overwhelmed by the words of encouragement that you have sent to me. I hope that this chapter does not disappoint. 

Also to my beta xoleanderx for her prompt return of my chapters and her word smithing.

**Chapter 3**

**Trust I Seek and I Find in You.**

He drove for hours. Steering the car away from the heart of the city, towards the mountains.

The Impala eating up the asphalt underneath as she rumbled onwards; her final destination only known by the driver.

Sam had spent the majority of his money on renting a cabin in the hills for a month, with the option of extending it for longer if need be. It was the off season for hunting, site seekers and campers so the landlord was more than happy to have someone rent it. The remainder of his cash was used to buy provisions. Provisions that he would need to sustain life. Hopefully two lives. He had bought the basic requirements and then some. One page of his shopping list had read like a soccer mum's, nearly everything from all of the five food groups. He had laughed when he first heard that. Fifth group? There is no fifth food group Dean. Yes there is Sammy, his brother had replied knowingly as he waved an opened packet of peanut M&M's in brother's face. No way could he omit them now. On the reverse were ingredients that would not have looked out of place in a scene from Macbeth, where three hags were ensconced around a bubbling cauldron, citing various animal parts as they added them to their concoction. His list was complete. Comprising of various animal body pieces with a hint of human to spice up the mix. Having them so close to him in the front seat made his skin crawl. Some were easy enough to find or to buy. Others, well, let's just say that he got them by more foul means than fair.

Manoeuvring the car up into the hills he turned onto a dirt track that wound its way up even higher into the dense forest. Changing down a gear, he took it easy going up the incline, being extra careful to not bottom out on the ruts and the potholes that frequented the long disused road. He'd rather not have a damaged car added to his list of things to do.

He had found the details of this retreat written on a faded post-it note in a diner; stuck to a community noticeboard that really no one payed much attention to as they made their way to and from the amenities. Grabbing the faded note, he quickly made the call, agreed to an amount, money changed hands and he moved in, all in one day. It was a nice enough place and had the basic mod cons. Two bedrooms with double beds, cosy lounges in front of a big fireplace, basic kitchen and bathroom amenities. Plus all the flotsam and jetsam that goes with a self-contained cabin. It also had power, which was a big bonus in his book. He was relieved that he had found such a place. Somewhere for him to settle his mind, plan, research, plan and oh yes, more research. But it was its seclusion from the modern world that he desired the most. For what he was about to do, he would need that most of all.

Parking the car under the carport next to the cabin, he grabbed the rest of his belongings, locked the car and walked up the front steps. Reaching into his pocket for the cabin keys he unlocked the door, then stepped inside, his long stride easily clearing the double salt lines that he had spread along the interior of the front room.

The lounge chairs looked comfy and inviting after sitting in a car cruising slowly along a rutted road. The coffee table was off to one corner, its top strewn with books. Some open, others closed with bookmarks, tags and red flags marking important pages. Giving it a cursory glance, he strode towards the kitchen and put the coffee on. Placing his 'special' provisions on the kitchen bench, he decided that a much needed shower would help him to relax.

He began to walk briskly towards the bathroom, his body urging him onwards at the thought of a nice hot shower to wash away the detritus of a busy day. The closer he got to the second bedroom, the slower his steps became, until he faltered at the entrance. There through the open door, he could see a duffle bag sitting on the bed.

He stared at it. All thoughts of having a shower being completely banished from his mind, his purpose in the present viciously ripped from him and transporting him to that fateful day five years ago, when that same duffle bag sat on a similar bed. Its owner outside in the cold, and alone. Soon to be lost to him.

Wiping his eyes, he tried to shake off his melancholy as he made his way to the bathroom. He did not need this right now. He had to get his act together. Keep his head straight if he wanted this plan to work.

Turning on the shower, he quickly got undressed, gingerly walking across the cold tiled floor to the warm enclave of the shower recess. He adjusted the temperature and let the needles of tempered water pummel and cascade down his body. Resting his head against the tiles, he couldn't stem the tide of emotions that were like icicles through his heart, and succumbed to his body's demand for release. He cried. He cried so hard, his breath hitching as he sobbed. His shoulders shaking with every breath his bent body would draw. His tears mingled with the warm water, their salt mixing freely, then combining and diluting to be forever lost. His grief was gone in a matter of seconds. He didn't know how long he stood there, his head bent. It was only when his body began to shake that he realised it must have been for some time, as the water was now cold on his shoulders.

Turning the taps off, he reached for a towel, wrapped it around himself, then grabbed his duffle to change in his bedroom.

The shower helped to rejuvenate his body, washing away the grime of the city and the dust of the road. The release of tears helped to strengthen and fortify his soul. The emotions that he felt after seeing Dean's bag were now gone and left him stronger for it. He could now concentrate on what he had to do.

Dressed and with the coffee done, he grabbed a mug, his book and a notepad and made his way out onto the front porch. Settling himself into one of the chairs there, book in his lap, he began to read. Only stopping now and again to make notes, take a sip of coffee, cross some notes out, highlight others, circle this, asterisks that. He'd been at it for a few hours before he felt the change in temperature.

Looking up he saw that the sun was low in the sky. It was nearing sunset. There were only a few hours of daylight left.

Distracted from his reading, he watched as a flock of birds make their way home. Their v shape formation an arrow to their destination. He heard their calls as they beckoned for others of their kind to follow. Follow them to a place of safety and solitude for the night. Their home. He listened as the sound of the forest animals increased, calling their mates and progeny homeward before the sun set. A place that would be safe and warm during the night.

Home. They were calling their loved ones home.

The analogy was not lost on him.

Closing his book, reaching for his notes and mug, he stood and turned back into the cabin. Locking the door behind him, he leant back against its strong frame and scanned the room before him. Nearly everything was in the right place. He could move the lounge chairs away from the fireplace towards the walls and then relocate the coffee table with its myriad of books as well, thus leaving a large space in the centre. Right in front of the fireplace. Perfect.

For, later tonight, he would be doing the same as the birds and the forest animals. Not with song or animal noises, but with knowledge, spells and enchantments, and possibly with a little luck, but with bucket loads of love.

He would be calling his loved one home.

He would be calling Dean home tonight.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N ** Here I am again ,my adoring fans….just thought I'd type that in to see how it sounds and looks. I hope that I don't sound pretentious! Slap me upside the head if you think that I am.

**Disclaimer**: Yaddah, yaddah, you've heard it all before, see Chapter 1

**Many thanks to: **Kali47, Brenny, gretchless, namedone, Spritz494, heather03nmg, dean'sdreamingangel, Tarplion and to others that I'm sure are reading and chose not to review. You are thanked as well.

High five to my beta xoleanderx for trying to keep me on the on the straight and narrow.

**Chapter 4**

Couldn't Be Much More from the Heart 

It was well past sunset now.

The moon was high in the cold night sky; its silver orb shimmering, occasionally being covered by an errant cloud breaking the slivers of light and plunging the earth into darkness. The stars shone brightly like diamonds on black velvet and everything was still.

Except for the occupant in the cabin.

The interior lights were blazing and a strong plume of smoke was issuing from the chimney. The occasional sound was heard of something large being moved, a thumping and then a muttered curse. He'd been busy since sunset, his concentration only broken by his bodily functions of hunger and relief. Once that was seen to, he applied himself once again to the task at hand.

The lounge room floor had been cleared. All the furniture had been pushed against the walls. On the bare wooden floor was a huge pentagram encased in a double ring. Symbols and words from many ancient languages had been written between the rings and within the four points. It was partnered by another copy on the ceiling, both points of which were directly aligned with the solid river rock flagstones of the fireplace. The space in the middle was left vacant and clear. It was large enough to contain a human body comfortably within its confines.

Sam had drawn the pentagram earlier that evening and it now shimmered in the light cast by the fire. Glowing. Incandescent. Small particles within its configuration came to life, then died as the light they reflected from the burning logs waxed and waned. The pentagram was taking on a life of its own, mirroring the ever changing hues of gold and red. It had been drawn with a mixture of iron filings, human saliva and cremation ashes. The iron filings were the reason why it shimmered, the mix of human ashes and Sam's saliva binding it all together and giving it an eerie sheen.

Partially naked and wearing only his boxers; Sam entered the room. In his hand he held an old oak bowl, the steaming contents of which he was stirring with a holly stick. His eyes now centred on his creation in front of the fireplace. Having turned off all the lights, his body now glowed eerily with the fire's reflective light and the soft flames of the candles at strategic points in the room, caressing his nakedness. Coming closer to the pentagram, he stopped a few metres short, then kneeled Indian-like in front, still mixing the contents of the bowl. The stench of the brew was overpowering, making his eyes water. Focusing his thoughts, he tried not to gag whenever he breathed.

Inhaling long and deep, he composed himself and let his breath out slowly. In through the nose and out through the mouth, in and out, in and out, marking time with the rhythmic beating of his heart and clearing his mind of random thoughts.

With the holly stick in his right hand and the bowl in his left, he drew a circle around himself. Satisfied that it was complete, he began to draw on his naked body. Symbols, runes and markings from civilisations and of languages that were long since dead, forgotten by all but those seeking answers, but combined together in one place they would make a powerful incantation.

Nearing the end of his inscriptions, he began to murmur. Murmurings that were faint at first, under his breath, between breaths, then increasing in volume. To the uninitiated they would sound like the guttural noises of wild animals. To him it was a song of life, of love, of reunion. An alchemy of words and intonations that he had accessed and stolen from all manner of sources. Used them and usurped them to meet his ends - to make this happen.

He continued on in this vein for hours, continually stirring his infusion and re-marking his body. The fire began to die down; the large blocks of wood that he had piled on earlier that evening were now beginning to smoulder. Their embers were barely giving off enough light for him to see in the darkened room. A few of the candles had fluttered out, the remainder were even now faltering as their wick burnt what little wax remained. His voice was becoming hoarse. The floor beneath his boxers was ice cold. The markings on his body were now dry, stinking and starting to come away. He was numb. He was tired. He was cold. And he was losing concentration.

The clatter of the stirrer on the floor as it dropped from his cold fingers startled him into wakefulness. With his blood pounding in his ears, he turned his gaze to the room around him, anxiously looking for any sign of movement, then coming to rest on the pentagram.

It was empty. The dying embers of the fire showed him that.

He had failed.

All his hard work. His research, his rehabilitation, all the money and time that he had spent to get to here. To this point. And he had failed. He had failed his brother.

It was five years. Exactly five years to this day that he had been taken from him. Torn from his arms to a place that Sam promised not to follow.

This was the only chance that he would ever get to bring him back.

And he had failed him.

Failed a brother that he had always looked up to, had secretly wanted to be like, had worshipped the ground that he walked upon. Idolised him. A brother who had always been there for him. Had never let him down. His best friend, his confidant, whom he loved with all his heart. And now he would never, ever get to see him again. Except in his memories.

Sam's head dropped in abject defeat. He was demoralised. The fight had gone out of him.

The bowl hit the empty space between his legs, its contents partially spilling around him. His hands came up to cradle a weary head, a heavy soul, a broken heart.

Sam hung his head and silently cried, each tear splashing into the bowl between his legs. He cried tears of rage, frustration, failure, sorrow and then remembrances of love. These tears were the most painful. Wracking his body with their intensity, their raw unbridled power; his already overstressed body cowering under their force, shivering him into numbness. The only solace that he had now.

There was nothing left for him to do now but leave the scene of his defeat and surrender himself to an oblivion that he knew was waiting for him. For he knew now that he could not live this way anymore.

Not bothering to wipe the tears off his face, he reached down to move the bowl. One last tear escaped to murder itself on the wooden floor, bulls-eyeing an ancient symbol for life.

The room was suddenly pitched into blackness. Cursing, Sam slowly rose, his back and legs protesting at their sudden use, and fumbled his way, arms outstretched like a blind man, searching for the fireplace mantel that he knew held some matches. In his blindness, he stumbled over something soft that gave way under his forward momentum. Hitting the mantel, he groped for the matches, quickly lit one and turned to investigate what he had tripped over.

There in the centre of the pentagram was a figure.

A human shape.

Naked, filthy and bleeding, a long haired, bearded figure who stared at him with hazel eyes.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

A/N Hello again…waves….Here is the next chapter in my feeble attempt at literary genius….laughs at own silly attempt at humour…If it wasn't for YOU out there encouraging me on I would've given up on this story, thinking that it was all a waste of time and suffered the retribution of some really nasty pissed off bunnies as a result of it. 

**Disclaimers:** You know them by now. If not refer to Chapter 1.

**Thanks again to**: iluvtomQ18, Got the Shining, dean'sdreamingangel, namedone, Ster1, Brenny, gretchless, Tarpelion….I apologise if I have not included your name and you have sent me a review or PM. Also, to those that have put me in there fav authors/alerts category or are the silent readers. I am truly humbled that you think my scratchings are that good of your attention.

**Chapter 5**

**Forever Trusting Who We Are**

He'd been poleaxed. He was sure of it. He had ceased breathing. His blood pounded loudly in his ears, his body was now running on automatic. He felt the earth drop away beneath him and if it weren't for his other hand gripping the mantel he would've fallen flat on his face.

Not since he had searched for Dean's body by the roadside those many years ago had he felt this way. His body remembering the fanaticism with which he ran uncoordinated along the roadside, screaming his name to be met only with silence. So not in control.

And now here he was in front of him, lying wretchedly on the ground.

Shakily he reached for the candelabra behind him, and bringing it forward, he lit the candles. His hand shaking, the match's pitiful flame threatening to die at any moment. His eyes never leaving those of the human figure in the pentagram.

Taking it slow, he squatted down. Resting his bottom on the still warm hearth of the fireplace and placing the candelabra to his side.

_Dean?_

Did he dare ask?

His heart took over his reasoning and brought his arm up to reach for the still figure whose glazed eyes still stared at him like a dead fish.

Sam's long reach ate the distance up in seconds, he was near to touching when the figure started, became agitated and tried to move away from the decreasing space between them.

Sam could hold back no more. He had to know.

"Dean?" he croaked.

The figure started at the sound. Hands rapidly coming up to cover his ears, faced pinched and tight, eyes tightly closed as if the sight of Sam was an abomination. He was shaking his head, his body rocking back and forth on the floor. His mouth moving but no audible words were coming out.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, edging a bit closer. Trying to hear what may have been mumbled.

"No, please, no more, please no," the figure muttered, totally ignoring Sam's proximity. "No, no more, you're not him, not him, leave me alone, please leave me alone." Words that were uttered with such despair that all Sam could do was shuffle back, a look of horror on his face.

"Oh my God."

He had seen enough of the figure to know who it was. It was Dean for sure. Through the long hair and the beard he had recognised the eyes, the smattering of freckles across the nose and the full lip. It was Dean all right. It was his brother back from hell.

Turning his back on the prone figure, Sam laid his arms on the mantel and rested his head upon them. He was relieved that his spell had worked. Happy, no, delirious, that he now had his brother back with him. He wanted to go to him. To grab hold of him once again. To once again feel his brother's warm life in his arms.

But this time, cold hard logic ruled his passionate, kind heart and stopped him from taking his brother's side.

The grandmother of his carer had warned him that there could be the possibility that what he brought back may not be what he so desired.

No matter how pure his ingredients were, or how resourceful his research was. Nor the perfection of his translations and his utterances of long dead languages; there was still a risk. A risk that he may have brought back something more than just his brother. For his safety, it would be prudent for Dean to stay where he was, in the pentagram, until he could be sure.

Composing himself, he turned towards Dean to find that his eyes were now closed as if in sleep. His body twitching, mumbling unintelligibly, limbs jerking as if he was trying to escape from something that only he could see inside his head.

Looking at him closely, he noticed how small his brother had become. He looked malnourished and oh so thin. His muscle definition was there but now it was just muscle only. No fat. His hair and beard were matted and filthy, his nails torn, shredded and missing in places. His body had become a detailed map of how he had been treated by his abductors. His nakedness was a canvas to their battles for his body and the war to break his soul.

Resisting the urge to touch his brother, he walked away towards the lounge chairs and grabbed a throw rug. Unfolding it, he draped it over his sleeping brother. Whether it was Dean or not, he couldn't help but feel compassion for its nakedness.

Checking that the pentagram lines were still intact, he went to the fireplace, determined to re-light the fire and surround them both with some warmth and comfort. Satisfied that the wood had taken, and the flames were sure, he stepped away and sat on the lounge. He had his brother's back once again, watching the shadows that danced and frolicked along his brother's supine form. The flames an eerie backdrop and a not so subtle reminder of where he had come from.

His mind was running at a million times a second, crowding his head with ideas, plans, results, ramifications. He needed a plan. If it were a hunt, he'd have it all researched and written in stone. You hunt the evil, you catch the evil, you shoot the evil…simple, easy, piece of piss.

But can you apply the same principles to something as fragile as a human mind? To his brother's mind, which was so much more complicated with its trapdoors of snark, caverns of witticisms and canyons of guilt?

How much of Dean did he bring back? All? Half? Part thereof? Was the glass half full or half empty? He had him back. That was all that mattered to him at the moment.

He was safe and Dean was safe.

And he was just so goddamn tired.

He was lectured that the incantation would take a lot out of him physically, make him excessively tired and lethargic. It was the emotional rollercoaster ride that he wasn't prepared for. Emotions that he had thought were buried and denied a long time ago had railroaded his normally stoic persona. They had stripped him of his adultness and made a child of him. A little brother once again that so wanted his big brother to come back and take away the hurt. His presence a coat of safety and love that Sam could cover himself with.

His euphoria slowly drained away, thus taking the last vestiges of his adrenalin, and with a silent cue, his eyes drooped and his body slowly sagged into the comforting embrace of the lounge. Snagging the corner of another throw rug, he pulled it close.

His eyes lingered on the sleeping form of his brother; the last thing he saw as he let Morpheus embrace him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimers:** You know them by now. If not refer to Chapter 1.

**Thank you's: ** No matter how many times I say these words they just don't seem to express how it makes me feel when I read your comments and encouragements. These two words just seem so inadequate at times….heavy sigh. But without **YOU** out there, this story would have been just an extra bunch of zeros and ones in my hardrive.

To chb76, thanks for continuing to read, your words mean a lot to me especially when you're one of my fav authors. Mousitsa, thank you for your comments against every chapter. It's all natural I assure you, I have no training whatsoever. Spelling typo's? Will have to be extra careful now that you're on the lookout….giggles. Maddyj74, and if it wasn't for your nagging I suppose that I would never have put finger to keyboard. So, I suppose that kudos should go to you as well.

So, enough of the preamble, here is…..

**Chapter 6**

**Never Cared for What They Do**

He thrashed blindly through the maze, his sense of direction useless. The fetid, stale air cloying at his skin, slowing him down. The darkness aided and abetted its co-conspirator, shading any light that might help guide his clumsy, pounding unclad feet.

Run!

He could almost hear the void laugh at his feeble attempts to get away from his own fears.

_Come and play with me Dean. Come and play with me…… la,la,la,la, la,la…_

The singsong child-like voice filled his ears. Then, like a tick, it latched on, its head burrowing into the thin skin, wriggling its way into his warm flesh, attaching itself and sucking him dry of his resistance.

_Arrrgh! No! Get away! Leave me the fuck alone!_

_Come and play with me Dean. Let me suck you dry. Let me feast on you._

They were little ticks now, their voices echoing inside his head. As if the mother of all ticks had given birth and her offspring joined her in her expectant meal, all rejoicing in unison in the knowledge of the bountiful harvest awaiting them.

They were biting, sucking, biting, sucking.

_Dean, you are mine._

_You are mine!_

_You belong to me now Dean!_

_Mine!_

_Dean!_

_Mine!_

"DEAN!!!!!" Sam roared as he watched from the other side of the pentagram.

Sam had been woken by mutterings, whimpers and cries. Casting off his throw rug, he quickly scanned the room looking for the source, ready for the attack, to be confronted by Dean, thrashing wildly in the centre of the pentagram. His arms and legs contorting, then flaying around, tossed like leaves in a tornado. His hands coming to rest on his chest, fingers pressed into the thin skin, nails digging in. The broken, torn nails snaring skin, pulling and bleeding. Then just as quickly reaching for his head and repeating the same movements. Chest, head, chest, head, Sam watched, mesmerised, as his brother became a writhing bloody mess.

"Oh fuck it," he said as he jumped into the centre, throwing all caution and logic to the wind, as he held his brother's arms up and away.

"DEAN!" he screamed into his brother's tight, pinched face. Sitting in front of his brother, he used his long legs to wind around either side of Dean's torso, cinching them together at the back.

"DEAN!" he yelled again, tightening his legs vice like grip around his brother's hips and bringing Dean's arms down. He sensed that the nightmare was diminishing as Dean's throes lessened in strength and intensity. His breath now came in gasps and shudders as the adrenalin left him.

Dipping his head down, Sam tried to get a look at his brother's face to see if he was awake or what emotional state he was in.

He reeled back in shock as Dean's head quickly came up, nearly collecting his chin on the upward movement.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, managing to avoid the collision.

Still keeping a firm grip on his brother, he waited for Dean to quieten, his eyes not meeting his no matter how often Sam tried to engage his attention.

"Dean," he said softly, "Please look at me, it's Sammy."

He was met with a violent 'no' shaking of the head. Lips moving incessantly, mumbling incoherently.

With a worried frown, Sam leant even closer to try and hear what he was saying.

"No, no, no," were the quiet whispers from Dean.

He was taking a huge risk, sitting here in the pentagram. But he knew without a doubt that this was Dean. His Dean. Call it a gut feeling, a sixth sense, whatever, he just knew it was him.

Releasing his hold, he wasn't prepared for what happened next.

His arms were pushed aside, as a right hook found its way onto his jaw, knocking him sprawling on the floor. His legs were still tangled around Dean, both of them falling to the ground in a twist of arms and legs.

Dean quickly disengaged himself, staggering as he got up. His eyes wild, chest heaving, blood running from the myriad of open wounds on his body.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" He snarled as he lunged away from Sam, grabbing an iron poker as a weapon. An instinctive reaction to try and defend himself.

Sam watched in shock as Dean waved the iron poker in his direction. There was no coordination in his movements. Dean's aim was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. His eyes were darting around; trying to find the enemy, the threat. His breathing was laboured and raspy, his body shaking with exhaustion.

"Dean" Sam whispered. His voice laden with concern.

The poker had found its target and lunged blindly towards the voice. Deftly, Sam sidestepped the ill timed and badly judged attack.

"Fuck off," Dean rasped, pivoting his body around trying to find his quarry again.

"Dean, it's me Sammy…your Sammy."

"Nn..n..no..no" Dean mumbled. The poker once again turning towards Sam. "S..ss..stop it."

Sam slowly shuffled to within an arms length of Dean. His arms out wide, bending his body down to try and catch Dean's eyes. Trying to make him see that it was really him.

This slight sound was enough for Dean to focus his aim and strike in Sam's direction. The tip of the iron poker glancing across the upper part of Sam's arm.

"Ge..ge..get a.. a.away fr.from m.m.me," Dean stuttered as he back pedalled. His words forced through clenched teeth. "I..I'm n..not your b..bitch," he continued, madly swinging the poker back and forwards. Swaying to and fro, like a wild animal that has been caged for to long in captivity and has become demented with its isolation. Like an autistic child that sits and rocks, side to side, side to side.

The sight of Dean's regression into this was enough to break Sam's heart. Tears threatened to fall unhindered to the cold floor under his feet.

"What can I say to convince you that I am Sammy? Your Sammy," he asked plaintively. Holding back his emotions that threatened to railroad him. His eyes never leaving the pitiful sight of his wounded, broken brother. Once again he cast his arms wide in a gesture of surrender; a naked target for a very dangerous poker in his brother's unstable hands.

Dean paused in his motions. Could this be a ploy? A ruse? It'd been done to him before. Shaking his head in the negative he growled, "Enough!"

"Look around you," Sam said his voice stopping short, catching on the last word. Swallowing hard he fought for control. Never had he seen Dean like this. Could never imagine in his wildest dreams that his brother, his fortress, his stronghold; the brother that he thought of as an indestructible force in its own right could be undermined so cunningly into a broken and vulnerable shell of a man.

With a conscious effort, Sam willed himself to continue.

"Look around the cabin," he began. His voice trying to remain calm and reassuring. An antacid on his own turbulent insides. "I drew a pentagram on the floor using iron filings, human saliva and cremation ashes," his voice now becoming more sure of itself, more confident, gaining momentum. "Do you think a demon could have done that Dean?" he questioned. Hoping for some sign of recognition of what he was saying. Looking for an emotion from Dean beyond that of rage, anger and malice mingled with a generous amount of insanity towards him. "Look at me Dean. Look. At. Me." Sam begged. "I'm covered in human blood, symbols and runes," he indicated his body then pointed around the room "This room is edged with double salt lines and warded. Do you think a demon could do that, Dean?"

Stepping ever so silently towards him, Sam held his hands out in supplication. His long fingers reaching out, searching for human contact which was scant inches away but may well have been miles. As if by his touch he could impart the logic of what he was trying to say. "Please Dean, think," he whispered his body as close to Dean as he dared to be with the poker only inches from his bare chest. "Do you honestly think a demon could do all of this?"

He trembled as his body sacrificed its last vestige of hope. Letting his tears fall he knew that he had only one option left. Reason and logic had not worked the higher functions of Dean's brain in getting him to calm down. He now had to rely upon the last piece of armament in his arsenal. Closing his eyes tightly and vanquishing his thoughts of failure, he mentally prepared himself for what was to come next. Not noticing that ever so slightly, the poker dipped.

"Look at me Dean," Sam asked softly. Body, heart and soul begging for Dean to take a good look, his whole body uniting in their one task for Dean to meet his eyes and make that connection.

"LOOK AT ME DEAN!" Sam roared, bringing his head up sharply, his eyes red rimmed and puffy. The pupils bright and shining in the contrast of the white surrounds.

Dean brought his eyes up to meet Sam's in an instant, the command tone vibrating through him, insinuating itself into every fibre of his being. Making him obey with an involuntary action. A tone that Dean remembered hearing a long time ago. A voice that had often ordered him to pay attention and do what was expected of him. A voice that he could never deny. A voice that called to him from the depths of his soul. It was a voice that could not be imitated or copied, it was authentic, the real deal. It was a part of both Dean and Sam.

The poker dipped lower.

"But... but, I saw you…you…." Dean stammered.

"What Dean, what did you see me do?" Sam said, encouraged now by the change in Dean's demeanour. His voice betraying him and catching in his throat with the revelation.

"I saw…I saw you, you were …NO!" Dean yelled at the last moment, refusing to give into what his heart truly wanted him to believe. That this young man in front of him was his younger brother. His Sammy. In the flesh.

Dean backed away, his body edging closer towards the corner of the room, the poker now pointing threateningly in Sam's direction.

"This could be another one of your 'pleasant dreams'," Dean spat out, his spittle mixing with the blood as it ran down his chin. Shaking his head as if to clear a memory, a dream, a nightmare. "Some..something else to fuck m.m.me up."

Sam stopped. Realisation hit him. _Oh fuck. _ Now he understood why his brother did not recognise him. No, did not want to recognise him. Did not want to look him in the eye. Sam had been his antagonist, his tormentor, his torturer, his punisher. Sam, the one person that Dean would trust implicitly. The only person that he would ever let get close to him. Bar one. His form had been used by whatever evil had decided to keep Dean, had used Dean's own memories of Sam as a weapon, a tool, a way of trying to subdue a strong body and a formidable mind. Of breaking his resolve and resistance down piece by bloody piece, until there was nothing left of him. An empty shell that would be thrown into the fires of hell, forever lost to loved ones.

How could he make Dean believe that this was the real him?

How could he fight himself?

How had Dean resisted for all these years?

"How?" he barely whispered his throat dry. Not really wanting to ask the question, nor know the answer.

Dean raised his head higher in pride perhaps or a challenge.

"Pain."

Sam stumbled backwards as if the word was a weapon thrust towards his heart. As if the iron poker had pierced his skin and imbedded itself into his quivering heart. In that moment Sam understood. Understood it all.

The cuts, the bruises, the open weeping sores were a barrier, a barricade against the onslaught of evil that was trying to torment his soul using Dean's memories of Sam as leverage. Dean had used his own body as a weapon against evil's constant barrage of Sam memories. The wounds were all self-inflicted. Dean had mutilated his own body to keep his memories of Sam pure in his heart. Not even in hell and torment would he let Sam's essence be tainted by evil. Even in this place, Dean was protecting him. Had tortured himself for his brother.

"I…I …" Sam's choked. "I'm so sorry," he mumbled, his words mixing with the tears as they fell unhindered to the floor. "I'm so sorry," he whispered as he crumpled to the floor.

Silence. Intermittently broken by the sobbing of a young man, his head now in his hands. Mumbling repeated 'sorry's over and over again. His body bowed with the revelation and understanding of how his brother had suffered. Suffered at his expense. Suffered for him to be alive and free, and at the same time he had been tortured for five long years. And he was ready to throw his sacrifice away - to lose and hopefully kill himself with his drug and alcohol dependence. His attempt at suicide was a loser's way of dealing with his pain. Dean could've killed himself a hundred times over to end his suffering. But he chose not to. He chose life and all its pain. His chose to live the life of a pawn in hell, forever at the mercy of his tormenters and their insatiable appetite for his Achilles heel. His love for his brother and the memory of him in his heart that he would not let be tainted by anyone, or by anything.

His whole body now cowered under a heavy blanket called guilt.

There was a faint shuffle, then movement.

An iron poker clattered loudly to the floor.

A strong warm hand touched his shoulder, then moved to his face cupping his chin and lifting his head up. Another hand pushed away his long hair, gently brushing the scar along one temple.

He kept his eyes tightly closed. Not wanting to see that face, those eyes that would look at him with nothing but love in them, for him. He did not deserve to see that. He was not worthy of it.

And then a voice, a voice that he had longed to hear. A once deep voice, though scratchy now with disuse. But a voice that he'd recognise anywhere. And it said….

"Sammy?"

He couldn't stop himself. He fell into that voice. He fell into its well of memories, of everything that was familiar loving and warm, of everything that felt like home. And the voice caught him and held. Arms encircled what they both had missed. Tears mingled with dirt and blood, rolled and then faded away all together, leaving two brothers alone to relish in the warm human contact of the other.

"Sammy?" Dean quietly questioned again, his voice muffled by his closeness. So wanting to believe that this was real. That Sam was real.

An equally muffled reply. "Who else could kick your ass?"

He felt the reply in the small of his back as Dean tightened his hold on his brother.

Dean now believed.

After one last squeeze, Dean gently withdrew himself from Sam's arms to move away slightly, rewarding Sam with a smile that had been missing from his lonely life for to long.

Sighing, he looked around him, down at himself and then across to Sam. Raising an eyebrow, he suddenly realized that he was naked and that Sam was only in his boxers.

"Oh God," he exhaled. Turning his head away, he sniffed, and raised a thin, dirty, and shaky hand to wipe at his eyes.

Wiping his eyes, Sam slowly brought himself to a standing position. Stooping slightly, he bent down to help Dean to his feet.

Dean nodded his thanks and let Sam help him up. He swayed, which had Sam quickly reach out with his other arm to help steady him.

Supporting each other as best they could, Sam led the way towards the bathroom. By now Dean was virtually leaning on him and Sam was hard up to get him to sit upright on the closed toilet seat while he ran a warm bath. With one hand on Dean's chest to keep him from falling off, he managed to reach for the taps. Once the bath was full, he gently coaxed Dean into the warm water.

Teeth clenching in obvious discomfort as the warm water found its way into the open wounds and sores that populated his body; Dean laid his head back against the cold white porcelain. Sam checked that Dean was okay before he made his way to the shower recess, letting the warm water cleanse his body of the bloody symbols and markings. Finishing quickly, he grabbed a towel, ran into his room put on a clean pair of boxers, and then checked on Dean again to find that he had totally submerged himself. Sam stood and watched for a few seconds, thinking how peaceful he looked. A rush of air bubbles to the surface and Dean slowly rose out of the warm water.

Dean was shaking like a new born colt, his hands having no strength in them as he tried to hold onto the sides of the bath. Sam rushed to his side, easing him gently out, keeping him close to his side as he wrapped a large bath towel around him.

Partially carrying his brother, he slowly made their way to Dean's bedroom. Propping him up on the edge of the bed, Sam deftly flicked on the bedside lamp, shoved Dean's duffel aside as he eased Dean onto it. Dean let himself sink into the softness of the bed, curling away from Sam and into himself.

"Hey, hold on," Sam said softly as he walked around to face Dean, the first aid kit that he had taken from Dean's bag in his hand, intending to clean and bandage some of Dean's wounds.

Dean's eyes were closed, one arm tucked under the pillow fumbling for something. Sam leant towards the bottom of the bed and draped a blanket over Dean's legs and torso.

"Your knife is in your bag," he whispered, reaching into the first aid kit for some antibiotic swabs and bandages.

Dean's eyes were mere slits of green as Sam gently dabbed the swabs along the upper part of his body, his slow gentle sponging making a rhythm on Dean's skin. The movement lulled him into a semi-sleep, a listlessness where his body worked of its own accord, letting his mind wander unhindered for a few moments. A quiet voice brought him back to reality.

"I.. I.. want you to know that I never gave up hope."

Sam stared at Dean. Willing him to go on, but not wanting to say anything to break the silence of the moment.

Dean continued as if hearing Sam's unspoken words of encouragement. "I hoped that you'd find some way and then..." he paused. "I….I….saw you …" Dean stopped, not wanting to go on. His eyes were now open and glassy..

"Saw me?" Sam stopped his swabbing. Waiting.

Dean's half-hooded eyes stared at him.

"Dead," he whispered. "They showed me you putting my gun to your head and…" He stopped, not wanting to say anymore. Closing his eyes tightly, as if that action could eradicate the memory of seeing his little brother with a gun, his gun to his temple and pulling the trigger. The blast of it and the dreadful thump of a lifeless body following in the aftermath.

"I very nearly was," Sam barely whispered. He remembered oh so vividly the feeling of pressing the cold hard gun to his temple. How cool it felt against his flushed head. How he had wanted to be free of this never-ending hurt, this guilt, this loneliness. As if one piece of lead could relieve him of that.

There were so many things that Dean wanted to say. Questions that he wanted answers to. But one look at Sam halted him. It was if a neon sign had been placed on the broad billboard of Sam's forehead. Guilt! Guilt! Guilt! It flashed in big red letters.

Sam had ceased his ministrations. His eyes were averted, his hand drooping then coming to rest near Dean's.

Dean reached across, flicked the swabs out of his brother's hand, grabbed it and brought it close to his body. Tightening his grip, he tried to impart in a gesture what he couldn't find words for at the moment. He knew that they would talk about it later. In depth, in detail and full of recriminations, accusations the whole gambit of emotions if his brother had any control of the D & M. But at this moment he was the one in the driving seat.

"I missed you," he simply said.

Sam nodded. He understood the gesture. He knew what would happen later. But for now they had this. And that was enough for him.

"I missed you too."

And with his brother's hand in his and Sam now by his side, Dean relinquished his tenuous hold on consciousness and drifted off to sleep. This time he was not afraid of the darkness, of what it might contain, of what fears it would reveal, manipulate, magnify and then release them into his subconscious. He was now free. Free of that terror. Free of not being in control.

He knew what would be waiting for him when he awoke.

His saviour.

His light.

His Sam.

_So, there you have it._

_Working on an epilogue at the moment._

_Please let me know what you think…..good, bad or indifferent._


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimers:**Yaddah, yaddah, see Chapter 1.

Thanks to Metallica for writing such a truely inspirational song.

**Authors Note: **Yeah,…big heavy sigh…Well here it is, the last instalment of NEM. It wasn't all that difficult to write, just hard for me to let it go. Like the first of anything you want to hold onto it and keep it yours. Possessive much? Whatever I write after this, or realistically whatever the plot bunnies decided to scramble my brain with; this fic will always be my favourite. It will be a candle, a measure by which I will hold all other fics of my own up to. And if they don't come up to par? Then its ashes for them. Or the delete key, whichever. Vanity? Hell yes! I practically thrived on all of your reviews and comments. They are like compost to my nutrient depleted brain when I was lost for inspiration. All I had to do was read my reviews. And you guys were there for me…blushes

**Big Hugs**: Gee, what can I say that I haven't already said before. Oh I'm not shirking from this chick flick moment. But these two simple words seem so inadequate. THANK YOU!!! No matter how many times I say it or re-word it still seems to simple.I really cannot thank you all enough. You know who you all are.

Also a thank you to my beta xoleanderx for making my scratchings look like words instead of splotches of ink.

So,……dramatic drum roll please maestro…here it is!

**Chapter 7**

**Epilogue-Nothing Else Matters**

It's been four weeks since Sam brought Dean back.

Four weeks that Sam would rather not have had to deal with or remember. If he knew of a spell that could selectively wipe his memory of that period of time and replace it with others more pleasant, he would. But this was their reality now; suck it up and deal.

Forewarned is forearmed so the saying goes. Well as forewarned as Sam thought he possibly was, he wasn't prepared for this.

Dean had had his share of colds and flu's, which made him grumpy and irritable to say the least. He'd also been banged up, beaten up, bruised and bleeding on quite a few occasions. All part and parcel of their job description. Looking after an ill Dean would've tested the patience of a saint. Sam wished that he had a few saints with him now. Sam was truly concerned, he felt that this time he was way out of his league and had been tempted to rush Dean to a hospital a few times. Dean imploring him, begging him not to stayed his hand. That in itself was an illness.

Dean had been sick, really sick.

The fevers and the nightmares were horrendous.

Sam could only imagine what Dean had gone through. His partially coherent mumblings shattered all misconceptions that Sam had any idea of what had awaited Dean. They didn't even come close. It scared him. Not for himself, but for his brother. For Dean to relive it all again in his heated state; how he would have to cope with it upon remembering it all and then living in a reality that was now all new to him; Sam just didn't want to think about it.

All Sam could do was offer his silent support and not judge. He was always there to sponge a fevered brow, to delicately remove a soiled sheet, to hold Dean down in the throes of a violent nightmare so as not to hurt himself. Calling to him; calling him to the present to himself, to Sam. Holding his hands when the tears of a shattered life were suddenly remembered. Sam had long since given up the pretence of sleeping in the other room. He spent most of his time with Dean anyway and it came as no surprise that he would often crawl into bed with him when it became too much for the both of them, and the only consolation were each others' presence and not the usual platitudes. Where actions spoke louder than words in their closeness, their proximity. The knowledge that they were together, that they had each other no matter what life or death decided to throw at them.

The hours blended into days, the days blended into weeks. And Dean's inner turmoil continued.

After another bad night, Sam awoke to a glorious sunrise. The room was emblazoned with the golden rays of the morning sun being mirrored here and there off objects that reflected and seemed to come to life at its burnished touch.

For the past few days and nights it seemed to Sam that time and the elements had stood still. Or perhaps he was that preoccupied he took no notice of his surroundings. It felt like today was the start of a new day for both of them.

Looking around him, he noted that he had fallen asleep with Dean yet again in his arms. He felt the steady rise and fall of his brother's chest against him and brought a hand up to feel his brow. His temperature felt normal. His breathing was steady and regular. Looking closer, he could even see a rosy tinge to his brother's cheeks.

Sighing deeply, he extricated Dean's grasp off his sweatshirt and moved silently out of the bed. Successful in his endeavour, he went to the bathroom then down to the kitchen intent on making himself and Dean some breakfast.

_Himself and Dean. _

The thought had never occurred to him. Not for a long time. A broad smile lit up his face as a tear of happiness slowly slid, finding its way into a dimple that had deepened with the intensity of his joy. Now he had a real reason to smile.

With the smell of bacon and eggs, toast and freshly brewed coffee wafting up behind him, Sam took their meal upstairs to find Dean sitting up in bed.

"Hey," he said, surprised that Dean was awake as he put the tray of food on the bedside table.

"It's beautiful," Dean whispered, his voice hoarse from the screaming of a few nights ago, his eyes not leaving the window.

Concerned, Sam followed his gaze, then relaxed as he saw what Dean marvelled at.

The Sun in all its glory had risen to enliven the cold earth and to reawaken its inhabitants to a brand new day of life.

Sam realised that this would have been a distant memory to Dean. A piece of his former life that he may have held onto for his sanity or for the sheer beauty of it, he couldn't really decide.

Clearing his throat he brought Dean's attention across to himself.

"I made some breakfast. I wasn't too sure what you'd eat so I did a bit of everything. Made some fresh coffee too," he said, proudly waving his hand in the general direction of the breakfast tray.

Dean looked at Sam, at the food, then at Sam again and noticed his eagerness for him to eat something. His stomach flip-flopped at the thought of consuming anything. The smell enough nearly made him gag. But he knew that he had to eat something. If not for the enjoyment of it then at least for what nourishment it would bring to his weakened body.

Nodding in acquiescence, he motioned towards the toast. Hoping that he could keep it down and not embarrass himself further. Taking the toast from Sam's hand, it halted in mid air, the toast a few centimetres away from his open mouth. Looking askance at Sam, he took a tentative bite, chewed then swallowed. A few minutes later another bite, chew then swallow. Before he knew it, the whole piece was consumed with not a twinge from his body.

Sam smiled, his eyes shining with pride.

"Coffee?" Dean croaked.

Sam beamed with happiness. Reaching over he brought the breakfast tray across to rest in front of Dean. They ate together in silence, Sam unconsciously matching Dean bite for bite with every morsel of food, every sip of coffee. Each eating in companionable silence until the breakfast tray was empty.

Sam could see that Dean was getting tired. He moved lethargically, his every action an exertion and depletion of whatever strength he may have absorbed from the meal. Removing the tray and brushing onto the floor any errant crumbs, Sam left the room to return the tray to the kitchen.

Hastening back he found that Dean had snuggled down into the bed, pillows slightly elevating his head and shoulders. His eyes closed as if in slumber.

Tentatively Sam approached the bed; then gently sat on the edge.

Dean opened his eyes at the movement, his eyes all soft and doey with the onset of sleep.

Sam reached into his pocket and withdrew a small bundle.

"Give me your hand," he said softly.

Trusting Sam implicitly, Dean did just that, and Sam quickly placed a small bundle in his upturned hand.

Dean cautiously opened the folds. A cold shiver of déjà vu impaled him making him gasp in surprise. There in his hand was his ring, his amulet and a set of keys.

This time there were no tears, no silent thoughts of _No! _and no promisesto be kept.

Memories spined likes leaves in a cyclone. Catching him unaware with their intensity, then leaving just as quickly. Their essence smudging away to be replaced by another. They took him back to a roadside near a crummy motel in some small hick town in the middle of nowhere-ville. A place where his whole world changed in a few short minutes. A reality that he had come to accept as his lot in life which would soon be brutally ripped from him to be replaced with one that would make a child of him.

He looked up to see that those same memories were reflected in Sam's eyes.

This time there was no moon in the cold night sky casting its light on a sad farewell.

Heralding the dawn of a new day the sun was their companion now as its rays pierced the room with its pureness of light and colour. Shining upon the shoulders of two brothers.

Then a deep voice began to murmur.

_So close, no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are and nothing else matters _

Never opened myself this way  
Life is ours, we live it our way  
All these words I don't just say and nothing else matters

_Trust I seek and I find in you  
Every day for us something new  
Open mind for a different view and nothing else matters _

_Never cared for what they do  
never cared for what they know  
but I know  
_

Hesitantly joined by another, tremulous at first, then growing in strength adding depth and resonance to their anthem.

So close, no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are and nothing else matters

Never cared for what they do  
never cared for what they know  
but I know

_Never opened myself this way  
Life is ours, we live it our way  
All these words I don't just say _

_And nothing else matters.  
_

_Trust I seek and I find in you  
Every day for us, something new  
Open mind for a different view  
and nothing else matters _

Their voices harmonised, entwined and coalesced.

_Never cared for what they say  
never cared for games they play  
never cared for what they do  
Never cared for what they know  
and I know  
_

_So close, no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are _

_No, nothing else matters_

And now they finished the song as one.

With the song still singing in their ears, Sam reverently placed the amulet around his brother's neck The ring he left for Dean to place on his right thumb. His fingers still too thin to hold the ring in place on his finger. The keys Dean held tightly in his right hand, feeling the cold steel as a reassurance that all of this was real.

They sat quietly on the bed; content, at peace, two young men trained in the art of fighting and killing. With many weapons at their disposal to vanquish and destroy evil. But they had one weapon in their arsenal that was mightier than any weapon they could buy or manufacture. It was forged long ago in the womb of a woman for her man. Their weapon was love. Love of one brother for the other.

And when it all comes down to it and the die has been cast, or your number is up and your back's against the wall and the whole world seems to be against you and is treating you like shit. If you have this; this love that knows no boundaries, has no limits, is infinite, then really…

Nothing else matters.


End file.
